


Grimm's Olympian Tales

by chellerrific



Category: Fairy Tales and Related Fandoms, Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crack, F/M, Gen, Siblings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-10-06
Updated: 2011-10-06
Packaged: 2017-10-29 06:26:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chellerrific/pseuds/chellerrific
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because even gods get lost in the woods or turn into frogs sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Little Artemis and Little Apollo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skypirateb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skypirateb/gifts).



> For Philippa, written during Dissertation-a-thon 2011.

“Congratulations,” Artemis said, leaning against a tree to rest. “You have gotten us thoroughly and utterly lost.”

“I knew I should have left a trail of bread crumbs,” Apollo said thoughtfully, rubbing his chin.

“Bread crumbs? What kind of idiotic guidance system is that? You would have needed a lot of bread, they would have been hard to see, we would have kicked them while trying to follow them back—and that’s assuming they didn’t already blow away or get eaten by birds.”

Apollo looked up into the forest canopy overhead. It was teeming with avian life. “Touché,” he said. “So I guess we were boned no matter what.”

“No, we wouldn’t have been ‘boned’ if we had gone left at the fork like I said we should.”

“The left road looked boring!” he scoffed. “Think of this as an adventure. What’s immortal life without a little adventure? The road less traveled and all that!”

Artemis peered ahead through the trees. “There’s a house up ahead.”

“What?” Apollo appeared at her side. “Just one house, way out here? That’s… not weird at all.”

“Regardless, there’s smoke coming from the chimney, which means someone must be home, and we are going to knock and ask that person how to get out of this forest.”

“I’m stereotypically obligated to scoff at the very suggestion.”

“Come on.” She grabbed him by the collar and despite being a head shorter dragged him to the house.

Apollo took a deep breath as he was pulled along. “What’s that smell?”

“Something baking, probably,” Artemis said. She stopped at the front door and let go of Apollo’s collar before knocking.

Free of her grip, he wandered along the side of the house, which struck him as odd. He put a hand against it, then leaned in to sniff. “Hey, Art! Check this out! Shit’s made of _gingerbread_!”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous. Who builds a house out of gingerbread? The ant problem alone would be enormous. And what happens when it rains?”

“I’m serious! Come see for yourself if you don’t believe me.” He broke off a piece of the paneling and popped it into his mouth.

“Apollo!” Artemis hissed. “You can’t just go around eating people’s houses!”

“No, no, it’s okay if they’re delicious!” He grinned and wiped a crumb from the corner of his mouth. “And this one is!”

She hurried over to him and smacked his hand away from the wall before he could pick off more. “Stop that right now! We’re here to get directions, not a snack!”

“Why can’t we do both? I’m an excellent multi-tasker!”

The door to the house swung open and an old woman stepped out. She was stooped, holding herself up with a cane, and her reddish-blond hair was streaked with gray. “Do I hear the dulcet tones of little children come to play?” Her gaze fell on the twins, and she stood there blinking at them. “Who the hell are you?”

“Greetings, fair maid,” Apollo said, giving the old woman a sweeping bow. “My darling sister and I were traveling in the area when we became so taken with the scenery that we found ourselves a bit lost. Might we avail ourselves of your aid?”

The old woman raised an eyebrow, then looked at Artemis. “One needs boots to listen to him talk.”

“I have gone through several pairs myself,” Artemis admitted.

“Whatever,” the old woman muttered, rolling her eyes. “I’ve been expecting a couple of little German kids. Seen any around?”

“Your lovely visage is the only one we have seen all day,” said Apollo.

“Damn. I thought for sure this gingerbread house thing would work.” She sighed, then looked the twins over more closely. “Oh, to hell with it. You’ll do. Why don’t you come inside and I’ll make you pie?”

“Ooh, pie!”

“Yes, yes, pie and candy inside. Just leave those sharp pointy weapons out here, all right?”

“I don’t think so,” Artemis said, gripping her bow more tightly, though Apollo had already dumped bow and quiver on the ground and was dancing in front of the woman, eager for pie. She stepped aside to let him pass, but stood to block Artemis’ path when she attempted to follow.

“Leave the weapons.”

Something about all this was wrong. Artemis knew she couldn’t abandon her idiot brother in the house, so she weighed her other options. The one she was leaning most towards was strong-arming her way past this frail old woman, grabbing Apollo, and dragging him off.

“Don’t even think about it,” the woman said, a glint in her dark blue eyes.

Artemis stared into them. There was something familiar about them, but she couldn’t quite place it. There was also something about them that said strong-arming her way through wouldn’t work.

“Art, you have _got_ to try this!” Apollo shouted from inside.

With a heavy sigh, Artemis dropped her bow and quiver beside her brother’s and was duly admitted into the gingerbread house.

Apollo was digging into a blueberry pie, the corners of his mouth stained purple. “What kind is that?” he asked the old woman pointing at another untouched pie sitting beside the blueberry.

“That’s cherry,” she told him with a smile.

Apollo’s eyes lit up.

“Eat all you want,” the old woman said. “I insist.” She looked at Artemis. “Why aren’t you eating?”

“I’ve eaten all I want to.”

“But you’re so skinny!” The old woman picked up her arm to show her, as if Artemis had clearly never taken a proper look at it. “Spending your days running around through the woods has made you so tough and stringy.”

Artemis tried to snatch her arm back, but the old woman’s grip was impossibly strong. “I never said—”

“Eat up,” the old woman insisted, the smile on her face starting to look more like a sneer than anything. “I can’t eat until you’ve had your fill.”

“And what will you be having?” Artemis asked, though she was pretty sure she already knew the answer.

“My favorite meal,” the old woman said, bringing her open mouth closer to the arm she held. “Little fat bastard children!”

Before she could take a bite, a cherry pie slammed into her face and exploded everywhere. She staggered back, releasing Artemis on reflex. Artemis was on her feet in an instant.

“You all right?” Apollo asked her.

“Fine,” she said, rubbing the red print left by the woman’s vise-like grip.

“I spent six months perfecting that recipe, you wasteful little ingrate!” the old woman cried, trying to dig the gooey cherries out of her eyes.

But the twins were already on their way out the front door, stopping only long enough to retrieve their weapons before fleeing into the woods.

“Such a waste of good pie,” Apollo said with a sigh.

Artemis punched him on the shoulder. “Next time, we go the way I say we should.”

He rubbed where she’d hit, looking affronted. “You’re welcome for not letting her eat you!”

“Trust me, I am flattered to bits you place me above pie.”


	2. Persephone, Let Down Your Hair

“Oh Persephone,” Demeter said with a sigh as the two worked together to comb her long blond locks. “Split ends? Really? Have I taught you nothing of the importance of creme rinse?”

“I’m sorry, Mother, but I’m out. That happens a lot when you go through three full bottles each wash.” Persephone looked doubtfully at her yards and yards of flaxen hair. “Also, I don’t know if you realize this, but hair doesn’t hold up that well when someone’s always climbing up or down it. Maybe… I don’t know, maybe it’s time we put in stairs instead.”

Demeter looked at her as if she’d just suggested it was going to rain pudding. “Persephone. If I put _stairs_ in, _anybody_ could climb up them. And what have I told you about other people?”

Persephone sighed. “They’re dangerous and want to hurt me, especially men.”

Demeter smiled sweetly. “Right. So it’s best if you stay safely up here, with me, in your stair-free tower. Now, I’ll just pop off into town to get you that creme rinse and you’ll be right as rain in no time.” She patted Persephone on the head, then headed for the window.

Persephone threw her hair out and watched as it fell to the ground dozens of feet below. Demeter climbed out the window and down the long makeshift rope, looking back only once to give Persephone a jaunty wave before departing.

Persephone pulled her hair back inside, massaging her aching scalp. One of these days she’d like to climb her mother’s hair and see how much _Demeter_ liked it.

Until then, though, she settled in for a long boring day. She had tried to talk Demeter into getting Netflix, at least, but even _that_ was deemed too risky, even after Persephone had explained the concept of instant watch. Demeter seemed to think that a suitable alternative was _her_ going to see movies in theatres and then coming back and acting them out for Persephone. (It really was _not_ a suitable alternative, though.)

She had just gotten comfortable on the couch with a book she’d read at least ten times when there was a shout from near the base of the tower. “Persephone! Let down your hair, so I may climb the golden stair!”

Demeter was back already? Maybe she forgot something. Her voice sounded a bit strange, but it had to be Demeter, because who else knew their cleverly-crafted secret code?

But the face that appeared at the window moments later was definitely not her mother’s. It belonged to a man with coal-black hair and icy blue eyes.

With a shriek and a hard shove, Persephone pushed him from the window.

Unfortunately, he still had a hold on her hair, and the yank he gave it as he tried not to tumble all the way to the ground felt like he nearly took the top of her head off completely.

“Please,” he gasped. “I don’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted to meet you.”

“You’re a liar,” she said, leaning out the tower to pry his fingers out of her hair. “And a man. Albeit a very… handsome… one.”

He tipped his face up to give her a strained smile. “You think so?”

She considered. “It’s not like I have much to make a comparison with,” she admitted, “but I like your face. That doesn’t mean you’re not dangerous!”

“I’m not though! Let me in and I’ll prove it.”

“Something about that logic seems off,” said Persephone, “but my head is really starting to hurt, so I’ll let you in. Try anything and you’ll regret it though.” She hoped he wouldn’t call her bluff.

But when he climbed in through the window, he didn’t pull out a knife or throw her to the ground or anything like that. First he seemed more interested in the tower itself, then he took a long look at her, a dopey smile on his face.

“What?” Persephone said, unused to being looked at like that. “Is it the split ends? Because let me tell you, it is _not_ easy—”

“It’s nothing,” he said quickly. “Forgive me, that was rude.” He cleared his throat, looking around for a change of subject. “Ah, pomegranates!”

“Do you like them? Help yourself.”

He picked up two out of the bowl sitting on the table and handed her one. “My name is Hades, by the way.”

“Persephone. Thank you… Hades,” she said, taking it. With a small knife she cut it apart and ate a few of the seeds. She nearly handed him the knife before hesitating.

“That’s fine,” he said, taking out a small paring knife from his pocket.

The fact that he’d had a knife with him the whole time and hadn’t immediately pulled it on her made her relax a little—then she put her guards back up quickly; that may have been part of his ploy! And to think she had almost fallen for it! Her mother would be so disappointed and shrill. She ate more of the seeds, the only thing she could think of to do to stall for time. She was at a loss for what to do with this strange man in her tower. Stab him? Let him stay? Throw him down on the couch and jump on top of him? (Why did she want to do _that_ , anyway?)

“So… wanna go see a movie sometime?”

Persephone lit up. “You’d take me?” She paused. “Oh wait. I can’t.”

Hades frowned. “You can’t? Well… what about dinner, then?”

“I can’t do that either.”

His frown deepened. “Why not?”

“My mother won’t permit it.”

“You’re a big girl. You should be able to do what you want.”

“I just _can’t_ ,” Persephone snapped.

Hades took a deep breath. “I see. I’m sorry. In that case, what _can_ you do?”

She shrugged. “Anything that doesn’t involve leaving this tower.”

He raised an eyebrow, then suddenly snapped his fingers. “Oh shoot!” he cried. “I probably should have mentioned sooner… I mean, you probably have never heard this before, but…”

“What?” she said, gripping the knife more tightly.

“Where I come from, if you eat a fruit someone else gave you, it means you’re now married to that person.”

She stared at him for a long moment, then swallowed the remaining seeds still in her mouth. “What.”

“Yeah. Oops?”

When Demeter returned, it was to an empty tower. It wasn’t very hard to find her missing daughter, though; the man who had spirited her away turned out to be a king, and the press was all over the story of the new queen and the grandiose official wedding they’d held.

By the time Demeter had finally gotten an audience with her in her new stair-filled palace, Persephone had cut off all her hair, and she seemed genuinely happy with her new life. She admitted that she realized pretty quickly the seed-eating thing had been a load of bull, but she had already found she liked being married, and besides, the baby was already on the way.

And so Demeter was forced to accept this turn of events, but it made for some perpetually awkward family dinners every year at the holidays.


	3. The Frog King

Zeus was either a frog who was sometimes a man, or a man who was sometimes a frog. To be honest, there were days when even he wasn’t sure. He decided he would be whatever suited him best in a given situation.

Usually, that was a man who was sometimes a frog. In fact, he had an entire bit worked out around that part. He would find a pretty lady, hop on up to her, and give her the following speech:

 _Greetings, fair maiden. I am Zeus, and though I appear to be but a humble frog, I am in truth a mighty human king. A single kiss from you is all I need to return to my proper form._

And then of course they would kiss him, because who could refuse an offer like that? And he would change into an incredibly handsome man. This was when he delivered the second part of his speech:

 _The magic of your kiss has restored me to my former glory, but alas, it can only last for twenty-four hours. Would that I could hold you forever in my arms, but that is not to be. Unless…_

And that was how he got them into bed. By the next morning he would have changed back into a frog. When his conquest awoke to find him green and slimy again, he would give her one of his explanations as to why it didn’t work. Often he used the following:

 _Ah, there is one thing I failed to mention. Only the touch of a princess can truly remove my curse. I had assumed you in all your majesty were one. It seems I was mistaken. Would but I had been correct!_

He actually scored with a lot of genuine princesses, though, which meant he had to alter it somewhat:

 _Ah, there is one thing I failed to mention. Only the touch of a maiden can truly remove my curse…_

…and so on. That one usually went over pretty badly, but he was small and slippery as a frog and had never really come to much harm over it.

One day he was out hopping around when he spied his next target. She was a knockout, even prettier than the last “prettiest girl in her village” he’d had. He hopped up to her and took a deep froggy breath, preparing to deliver his speech.

“No,” she said before he could utter one word.

He was completely flummoxed. “‘No’?” he repeated.

“No, I will not kiss you. No, I will certainly not go to bed with you. You can remain a frog, for all I care.”

He blinked his bulbous amphibian eyes. “How did you know that’s what I was going to ask? Has word really gotten this far?”

“No, you just have that look about you,” she said.

He was about to call bullshit, but she looked so serious he genuinely could not tell if she was kidding or not.

“Come on,” he said instead. “If you can tell everything about me, then surely you must know I’m incredibly good-looking.”

“I’m sure you are, and I’m sure you’ve also noticed that I am too,” she pointed out. “Therefore, I don’t have to stoop to kissing frogs to get handsome men, if I desired them.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Zeus said with a froggy nod. “You’re into that. Well, I can also be a handsome woman, if—”

She raised her foot to step on him.

“Okay, okay!” he cried, jumping out of the way. “I get the point! You are unimpressed by my smooth froggy skills. Which, granted, must mean you are deficient in some way, but you know what, you’re hot enough that I’m willing to overlook that! Just a little peck on the lips and I promise you will not regret it. What’s your name anyway, beautiful?”

“It’s Hera, and I already do regret this conversation,” she said with a sigh, stepping over him and carrying on her way.

He hopped after her. “Wait, slow down, those legs that won’t quit translate into very long strides and in case you hadn’t noticed, I am tiny.”

“Oh, so you’re tiny, are you,” she said with a smirk.

He was so startled by this mid-hop that he landed on his face. “ _What_?”

She glanced back at him over her shoulder. “Tiny.” She held up her hand, thumb and forefinger about an inch apart.

“I—what—I am _so not_ tiny!”

She blinked innocently. “But isn’t that what you just said? Quote, ‘I am tiny.’”

“I meant in _size_ —”

She gave him a pointed and unimpressed look.

“Not _that_ size!” How was this happening? They were usually onto foreplay by this point! He had to get things back on track. “Greetings, fair maiden! I am Zeus—”

But his conquest-to-be was already walking away, not hearing a word he was saying.

He bounded after her again. “Wait! You haven’t even heard the speech!”

Hera sighed, thoroughly exasperated, and stopped. “I’m aware. I was hoping you would have taken the hint by now, but apparently, your brain is proportional in size to certain other parts.”

“No it isn’t! My brain is massive!” Realizing what he’d just said, he cursed himself. “So is everything else!”

“Including your ego,” she pointed out.

“Oh, come on! What do I have to do to get you into bed with me? That’s all I really want!”

She pretended to think about the question. “Marry me,” she said at last.

Zeus was flabbergasted. Marriage? _Seriously_? He was about to turn and hop away, but then he remembered she was _seriously_ hot, and he had never failed at this before. Could he really tolerate the thought of letting one get away?

But really? _Marriage_? Just to get _laid_?

She was walking away again, which actually made it even worse, because he had an amazing view from where he sat watching her go.

“All right!” he cried out without thinking. “I’ll marry you!”

And so that was how the Frog King came to marry Hera With the Legs That Won’t Quit. On their wedding night, he left her thoroughly and multiply satisfied, and had to admit that she in turn was probably the best he’d ever had—which, of course, was saying something, because he was such a massive slut and all.

He rolled over to sleep with a contented sigh. “I win,” he muttered.

“Mm,” said Hera beside him. “Of course you did.” She patted him on the head gently, then switched off the light.

And then he thought about the fact that he was now married, in bed with his _wife_.

“Dammit,” he hissed into the darkness.


	4. Cinderhestia, or, the Little Glass Slipper

Hestia awoke covered in soot and ash. There was no mystery to this; she’d merely fallen asleep in front of the fireplace again. Her sisters tut-tutted: didn’t she hate always getting so dirty, wasn’t she afraid of stray sparks, what would happen if she rolling over? But Hestia always felt safest, happiest, and most comfortable at the hearth, even on warm days when nothing burned.

Today was not a warm day, though, and the fire was mostly embers by the time she awoke. Fortunately as usual she was the first one up, so she had time to get it going and get breakfast started.

Hestia was the youngest in the family but in some ways she felt like the oldest. Their mother was gone and while each of the three sisters filled her absence in their own ways, Hestia was the most motherly by nature. Besides, their father wasn’t gone and he expected things done in a certain way. If they weren’t, he got angry, and even if it was hard work, Hestia would do anything to keep him from taking that anger out on her sisters.

She finished breakfast just in time. “Good morning,” her sisters said as they sat at the table. “It smells delicious!”

When Hestia sat a plate of food in front of their father, however, all he said was, “Look at you, tracking soot everywhere. Disgraceful. Looks like you will be cleaning the floor again today.”

Her sisters cast her sympathetic looks but said nothing. She didn’t blame them. Talking back only made him angrier and that did no one any good.

Hestia had only just finished cleaning up after breakfast and gotten started on the floor when there was a knock at the door. Her sisters hurried to answer it. On the other side was a young man with a scroll. He unrolled it and announced to the room at large, “By decree of the King, there will be a royal ball this Friday night. After these balls he shall choose for himself a wife. Every lady of the kingdom is invited to come and make her best attempt to catch the King’s eye, including the three daughters of Lord Kronos. Yes, you heard right, you will be getting down on Friday. I hear he likes blonds. Thank you, and good day.” He gave a smart bow, then left.

Hestia’s sisters immediately burst into excited chatter. What would they wear? Would they be the one to catch the eye of the King? Hestia felt a spark of excitement herself. She had never been to a real ball before, and she couldn’t help but be pleased to see her sisters so thrilled.

“Yes, how exciting,” said their father, causing them to all fall silent. “What a shame you won’t be able to go.”

They stared at him, unable to respond.

“There’s too much work to do around the house,” he said sternly. “You really think you can go gallivanting off to some silly ball? As if you would ever catch any king’s eye, any of you.”

Hestia saw tears forming in her sisters’ eyes and despaired. “It’s all right, Father,” she said quickly. “I’ll take care of everything. The three of you can go.”

Hestia could see her sisters were torn. They badly wanted to take her up on this offer, but how could they?

She smiled. “Don’t worry, I didn’t really want to go anyway. You know me. I prefer to stay in.” This was only partially untrue. She took them by the hands and forced herself to look them in the eye and say with every ounce of sincerity she could muster, “I mean it. Go. That’s all right, isn’t it, Father?”

He eyed her critically, as if she were a bug he was contemplating crushing. “If Hestia is able to do the job of three people by herself, then yes. You may go. If I’m not satisfied with her work, however, I will change my mind.” He glared at his two older daughters. “You are not to help her, though. You understand?”

He wanted her to fail. Hestia loved their father, forgave him his faults much more than her sisters could, but she could not deny this fact. He wanted his daughters to be unhappy. Hestia was more determined than ever not to fail.

For the rest of the week she worked her fingers to the bone, but somehow there always seemed to be more to do. A small part of her suspected her father was deliberately sabotaging her, but she squashed it down. Surely even he wouldn’t go _that_ far?

Still when Friday rolled around even he was forced to admit that she had done enough. Not enough that she could go as well, of course (and she was exhausted and filthy and had no dress anyway), but enough that he had to relent and let her sisters go. For Hestia, that was enough.

She was dozing by the fireplace after they’d left when a noise woke her up. There was someone else in the house. When Hestia looked her heart skipped a beat. The woman standing before her looked just like…

“Mother?” she breathed.

The woman smiled at her. “Not quite. I’m your fairy godmother and you have a ball to get to.”

“But…”

“Nonsense.” Her fairy godmother waved the wand in her hand and suddenly the house was as spotless as it had ever been, and Hestia felt reinvigorated. “You have worked hard. You deserve to go.” She tapped Hestia on the head with the wand, and suddenly she was scrubbed clean and wearing a beautiful dress and delicate glass slippers.

Hestia sighed. She did want to go, for a little bit, if she was honest with herself. “All right. But I have to be back before midnight. It won’t do if the others come home and I’m not here.”

“As you wish,” her fairy godmother said, and with another wave of her wand, Hestia was at the ball.

She danced and laughed and got down that Friday, though she had to avoid her sisters, because she wasn’t sure how to explain what had happened, and of course she had to avoid her father, because he would never believe it.

She even danced with the King himself, and he was warm and friendly and they clicked instantly, especially once they discovered they had the same favorite TV program. But the clock struck midnight before she knew it and she had to run all the way home as fast as her legs could carry her. She lost one of the glass slippers on the way, but by the time she noticed it was too late to go back and look for it. She hoped her fairy godmother would not be too upset.

She just barely beat the rest of her family home but they were none the wiser. She listened to her sisters talk about what a wonderful time they’d had the next morning and was itching to join in the discussion but as long as her father was there that was not possible.

Then came the knock at the door. Her sisters answered it to, of all people, the King himself. “I danced with a girl at the ball last night but I was unable to get her name. The only clue I have to her identity is this.” He held out a small sparkly object: Hestia’s missing glass slipper.

Her sisters exchanged glances. “We’ve never seen it before.”

“If I may, I’d like to try it on every young lady, so that I can be certain. Please?”

And he looked so forlorn that they allowed themselves to be fitted. It was too small for both of them, however, and the King looked so defeated, Hestia couldn’t bring herself to stay silent and hidden another moment.

“It’s mine,” she announced, more bravely than she felt.

Her father regarded her coldly. “Cinderhestia,” he jeered. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about, Your Grace. She was not at the ball last night.”

But the King recognized her, even through the soot and rags. “It _is_ you!” he cried. “I’ve found you at last!”

Hestia took the shoe back and tried it on, to prove to everyone in the room that it fit. Her sisters gasped, and her father’s look grew colder than ever.

“Please,” said the King, kneeling before her. “Say you’ll marry me. We belong together. Surely you felt that last night.”

Hestia hesitated. “I can’t,” she said finally. “I don’t want to be a queen. All I want is my family and a warm fire and a nice cup of tea. And maybe a kitten. But… I’d still like to be friends, if that’s all right with you.”

His shoulders slumped when she rejected him, but after a pause, he smiled. “Yes. I’d like that very much.”

And her father never bullied Hestia or her sisters again, because when your best friend is the king, people learn to back up off it.


End file.
